


Kinktober 2020

by lxdyclavicula



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Adze- Original Sans, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Swapfell Purple (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Clementine- Original W. D. Gaster, Crimson- Original W. D Gaster, Gastercest - Freeform, Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Miel- Original Underswap Papyrus, Moneyhoney, Multi, Nickel- Original Swapfell Purple Papyrus, Underfell W. D. Gaster, Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap W. D. Gaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxdyclavicula/pseuds/lxdyclavicula
Summary: My unedited Kinktober 2020 drabbles. May include multiple ships, dub/noncon, and other triggering themes.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Sans (Undertale)/Reader, W.D Gaster/W. D Gaster
Comments: 18
Kudos: 19





	1. Day 1: Phone (Underswap Gaster x Underfell Gaster)

Warnings: Slight coercive language, alcohol mention

What an exhausting conference.

Clementine barely remembered to say hello to the front desk before shuffling his way to the elevators and sinking into his bed.

Guilt nibbled at his thoughts. She was a nice girl. Even though the Queen had bungled the check-in time she’d given him, the girl got him set up anyways. In a nicer room than before. And he’d just walked right past her. His mind demanded that he apologize, but he couldn’t think of a single gesture that wouldn’t seem like he was coming onto her. Roses? No. Excessive. A verbal apology on its own? Not enough.

Even if he wanted to get up and propose, that would involve getting up, and his creaking bones let him know they’d had just about enough of his overwork.

He struggled to sit up and pulled his Jazzmaster from its case. The presets were quiet and clean, and he fiddled with his amp while disembodied hands tuned each string. Once it was to his satisfaction, he floated several pillows behind him and tried to strum the conference’s droning tedium out of his head.

Eventually, his exhaustion and boredom bled into his playing, and for the spangly sound of the model, it could only do what he could play.

He might as well be an animatronic in a pizza shop band, or the guitar equivalent of a player piano. Clementine returned the instrument to its case, a little less carefully than usual.

Gods, when did his pants get so tight? For someone who used to be mostly bones, his ecto sure found a way to remind him how old, how undesirable, how out of shape he was. He looked down. A small orange stomach glowed at him through his clothes. He thought of covering it up with a blanket, but that wouldn’t help. He’d seen it already. He lay awake, thinking about licks he could compose. Maybe if he stayed up, his eyes would eventually close themselves, and he could ignore the constant hum of his body’s vampiric and sexual needs. He’d succeeded in doing so for days, weeks, months. An occasional moment of weakness, usually over a lingerie catalog, and he was good to go for another half a year.

His phone buzzed.

“Ugh, for fuck’s sake,” he grunted, letting himself curse now that he was away from home. He rolled over and reached for it, not wanting to fumble for it with his constructs. “Please don’t be the queen. Please don’t be the queen…” He swiped, unlocking it.

 **Crimson:** Call me.

“Absolutely not.” He tossed the phone back onto the bedside table.

 **Crimson:** I know you’ve read this.

When did he turn on read receipts for this man? Maybe it was the default on his phone. Clementine didn’t like leaving people hanging, especially his sons, if they needed him. His Fell refugee counterpart texted him so rarely that he hadn’t thought to adjust the settings.

 **Crimson:** You’re missing out.

What did that even mean? The most texts he got from this man were along the lines of: You didn’t turn in your report. You left your umbrella in the front door. You misordered my coffee this morning. Nothing but clipped, clinical statements of everything he did wrong at work. He’d known Crimson would be attending this conference; all of the Dreemurr University faculty, especially those on tenure, were required to, but he had so little to say to the man, and Crimson to him, that he’d dodged him at most of the extra networking and social events during the day. He didn’t need that voice reminding him of his his incompetence outside business hours as well.

 **Crimson:** Fine. I’ll call you.

Wait, what? Why? They’d barely exchanged more than a paragraph, and now a phone call in the middle of the night? Before Clementine could process, his phone vibrated in his hand. He almost dropped it, reached to hang up, and pressed the answer button instead.

“H—Hello?”

It was quiet on the other end for a moment.

“Clementine.”

“Yes?” He gulped.

“You avoided me during the sessions and lunch today,” His counterpart observed.

“Avoid you?”Clementine managed. “I could n-never! I just had a bumpy start today. My Queen gave me the wrong check-in time to the hotel, so I started everything a bit late. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“Oh, there’s no misunderstanding, Clemm. You don’t like me.” Clemm? No one called him that. Dr. Clementine, Dr. Gaster, Dr. G from his students. Pops or Dad from his sons.

“It is true, though. You could never avoid me. Not forever. It’s hard to evade a monster like me. Have a drink, Clemm. Maybe some coffee and irish cream? Something to get that croak out of your throat.”

Clementine sputtered. “Wh—what? I don’t drink during professional conversations. Goodnight, Professor Crimson.”

Was that a snicker on the other end?

“You won’t hang up. You don’t want to. Are you a sober man, Clemm?” There was a hint of animation in his counterpart’s voice. Clementine’s face flushed, a little irritation cutting through how exhausted he was. He had a glass of ice water just to spite Crimson.

“That doesn’t sound like a coffee maker, Clemm,” Crimson continued.

“It’s not. It’s the rattling of ice, and me pouring water.” After a moment of hesitation, Clementine added, “G-get bent.”

“Get bent?” Clementine had never seen Crimson smile, but he could almost hear the upturn of his mouth when he asked. “Try getting it out proper, if you mean it, Clemm. Professor Clementine.”

“Fine! G-get bent!”

“Why?”

“Because you have some bloody nerve, calling in the middle of the night to tell me to drink some liquor for you! Is that what you’re out of shape about? That I didn’t want to hear your voice bossing me around when we’re both tenured professors? That you didn’t get to subtly humiliate me as I went about my day?! Call me fucking Clemm again and see how HR likes it!” Clementine slammed his finger into the end call button. He hadn’t been this angry in some time.

The room was quiet now that he’d stopped shouting. The heat in his cheeks slowly dissolved into something more familiar, insidious. _No,_ he determined. Tonight had already been strange enough. If he fed into those thoughts, well… the last thing he needed was for his cock to stand at attention, his pussy to drip, the next time those red eyes made contact with his, the next time that mouth opened, and critiques slipped through those sharp white teeth. He was not going to feed into whatever his tired brain was creating.

The room’s landline rang.

“Hello?”

“I can smell you, Clemm,” Crimson smirked through the receiver. A shudder of outrage, outrage and something else, passed through Clementine’s body.

“What the hell do you mean? I couldn’t even get a reservation in the hotel for the conference!”

“Neither could I. Thankfully, the lovely young human at the front desk found me a place to stay.”

“This is fucking stalking, Crimson!”

“Is it? There were no other rooms in town.” Crimson chuckled, before continuing. “In all honesty, I wasn’t looking to be here. My king and I forgot to book me anything entirely, so I figured I’d show up. See what sort of roach-infested roadhouse I could endure for a few nights. It was only when I got lucky here that I felt your scent across from me.”

“Well, it’s none of your business what I smell like, or whether I’m drinking in my own hotel room or not. If y-you call again, I’ll ask the front desk to block your number,” Clementine tried to be stern.

“I know what you want, Clemm. I can smell it. I can hear it in the quivers of your voice when you struggle to assert yourself,” Crimson purred.

When you stood up for keeping the college public, to make sure that my second-in-command was given a fair shot to the tenure track, when you protested with the students of Ebott State across town to stop their admins from raising tuition, you get your words out just fine. You can’t say no to me with conviction, because you don’t have it. You’re a different man when you do. Right now, though?”

“I---” Clementine started, the warmth in his suit starting to suffocate him.

“Do you mean it, Clemm? When you tell me to get bent?” Crimson’s tone changed. Sincere, though rusty.

Clementine paused.

“If you’d like me to leave you alone, truly, then tell me, and I won’t bother you again.”

The constant hum of the lust curse rattled in Clementine’s mind, his body a vintage radiator slowly cranking to life.

“Clemm?” Crimson murmured.

“… I---I can’t. I don’t.”

“You don’t what, Clemm?”

Clementine bit the malleable bone that formed his bottom lip. The inside of his mouth salivated, an alien feeling of wetness pooling under his tongue.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Would you like to hear what I want, Clemm?” Crimson asked, the mischief leaking back into his voice.

“Wh-what?”

“I want to take care of you, Clemm. I want you to stop underselling yourself. I want you to stand up to me… but not tonight. Later… right now, I want you to take your shoes off. I just know you sleep in your damn clothes.”

Clementine looked down at his feet. He grunted. Guilty as charged.

“Right first, then left, Clemm.”

“I know how to take off a pair of fucking shoes,” Clementine grumbled. Nontheless, he obeyed.

“I’m sure you do, but did you do it like I asked?” the other man chortled.

“… yes.”

“That’s what I thought… you may hold the phone with your real right hand, and take off your pants, slowly, with constructs.”

Clementine’s leg bounced a little. This was taking too long.

“Impatient, aren’t we? I can hear you getting all huffy. We’ll be doing things at my pace tonight. 202D, is that right?”

“How did you--- what do you mean, tonight? This isn’t h-happening again.”

Crimson’s low chuckle sent sparks through the base of Clementine’s spine. Glowing, red hands materialized, feeling for him until they found him.

He couldn’t believe he was letting this happen.

“There you are. I’ll keep the pace, from now on.”

Crimson’s hands sat Clementine up, rearranged the pillows, spread his legs. His fingers pressed into his thighs, massaging his tense, aching body. Clementine’s breathing picked up, but he fought not to make noise.

“Red to stop, yellow to pause, green to go. Any other noises are, of course, welcome,” Crimson explained. “Sit up a bit…” Before Clementine could, the hands moved him forward, slipping the wool suit jacket off his shoulders.

“Your body’s warm, Clementine. Too warm… how long do you ignore your heats?”

“That’s none of your busin--- haah~!” He choked out a moan, as Crimson pressed his thumb into a painful knot in his back.

“Did that hurt? Did it feel good? Both, perhaps?”

Clementine didn’t answer.

“I suppose I should stop, then.”

“D-don’t! It’s… it’s both,” Clementine managed, through gritted teeth.

“Then I want to hear how good it is. If you keep muffling yourself, I’ll leave you high and dry,” Crimson rebuked him. The shift from good humor to stern reprimand made Clementine croak a bit.

“Good… again. How long do you sit in your heats?”

Clementine had to think, before he was too far gone to answer. “… Seven months is my record.”

“Your record?” Crimson pressed, verbally and physically. Clemm groaned into his hand, not that it covered much. His fingers dug into Clemm’s knots, a forceful healing streaming from his palms that made Clemm’s knees weak.

“I don’t have time to--”

“Don’t lie. You’re ashamed.”

Clemm closed his mouth.

“Well?”

“… Isn’t everybody a little ashamed? Our desires aren’t normal. They’re proof that I failed my Queen, my people, at the moment in which they needed me the most---”

 **“** **Stop talking and moan for me.”**

The hands pushed him back onto the pillows, unbuttoning and discarding his pants. His socks and garters were left on, the hands ignoring his feet and massaging his thighs, two hands lifting and cupping his ass.

“That’s better… **much** better,” Crimson growled. “I… I can’t touch myself, hearing you lament and lambaste yourself. You s-sound best when you can’t talk like that.”

Had he been touching himself? Clementine could barely focus over the worries in his mind, but when he held the phone closer, he could hear the soft, slicked pops of the other slowly dragging the hole in his palm around a substantial shaft.

“H-how big is it?” Clemm groaned, the hands turning his legs to jelly.

“Come for me a few times tonight, and you mi-ight find out tomorrow.”

“A f-few times?” Clemm’s hips staggered.

“It won’t be too much trouble,” Crimson smiled on the other end. “I’ll make it painless… for now. There’s no rush…” He tossed Clemm’s silk boxer briefs aside. Clemm yelped. “At least… that’s what I’m telling myself, so that I don’t r-rush over there and--- you’re closing up, Clemm.”

Crimson firmly pressed Clemm’s legs apart, two thick fingers slipping into his pussy.

“Fu—uck! Crim-s-son…”

A low growl rattled through the line. **“Perfect. Keep them spread.”**

Crimson’s fingers curled into him, finding his weak spots immediately, rubbing his clit in slightly impatient circles as he pressed into his tender, sensitive cunt. “Haah--- ah! Sl—slow down!”

“Is that really what you want? For me to slow down? You know how to ask if you do,” Crimson chuckled. “You can lie to the Dean, to your students, to your children as much as you like, but you can’t lie here. I’ll find out what you want, one way or another.”

“F—fine! Green, green, g-green---ah! Don’t f---fucking stop!”

“Good boy, Clemm! Honesty is rewarded here,” Crimson laughed, giving him a third finger. “Gods, you’re dr-dripping w-wet, I can tell how long you’ve w-waited, Clemm….”

Clementine gasped, almost forgetting to breathe. His soul pounded, throbbed in his chest, already oozing magic into his body. “Hh--- I---”

“You what, Clemm? What do you need? How can I m-make it better?” Crimson groaned, almost painfully.

“I need y-you to c-come with me, C-Crim!” Clementine begged, his free hand balling up the sheets that Crimson’s had thrown aside. “I w-want to hear you…”

“Fuck! I m-might not h-have a choice--- s-say my name again! Say my name like th-that again, Clemm…” Crimson’s breath stuttered, his fingers struggling to keep a steady rhythm.

“C—Crim--- please! Pleeease~! I want y-you to---”

“Agh! I’m---”

Clemm heard Crimson’s come splatter through the other man’s palms, his walls tightening as a desperate wail of Crim’s name forced its way out of his body, leaving him beautifully spent, empty, light.

It was a minute or so before Crimson himself could talk again.

“… may I sleep in your spare bed?”

Clemm nodded, before remembering his counterpart couldn’t see him. “Y-yes. Just… pop in.”

A fully-suited man fell from nothing, right into the other bed across from him. He stayed facing away, panting. Clemm wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk, but he was thankful for Crimson’s presence. It made him feel a bit less used.

Crimson’s hands stayed on Clementine, lifting him, bathing him, tucking him in. The hand that’d fucked him had snuck off somewhere, but Clemm was too sleepy to notice.

At least, too sleepy to notice until he heard the slurping of Crim sucking his fingers clean in the dark.


	2. Day 2: Alone (Horrortale Sans x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend intercepts you on your way home from work. Don't worry, he just wants to chat.

Warnings: dubcon, blood, intense pain play

Thick black curls of smoke twirl and twist, rubbing crudely up against the heavy storm clouds. You look up at the sky, before checking the filters on your gas mask. 

“Headed home?” Mr. Mattison asks, pulling his own apron off his body. You’re already cleaned up, so you nod. 

“ You'd better get going, before the acid rain comes down. ‘S not as dramatic as in the movies, but get drenched enough and  you'll feel some kinda sick. “

You squint at the clouds and your eyes flit to the thermometer. I think its going to be snow, sir. 

“Regardless. Get yourself home safe tonight. Your payments in the env--- good on ya! You  didn't forget it this time,” the older man chuckled, waving you goodbye. 

You huddle into the dark blue sweater on your back, pulling the hood over your head and keeping an eye out for caustic puddles. Ebott has a strict curfew, so the streets are empty of newsies or pickpockets, You still move carefully, with eyes and ears as open as they can be under a heavy hood and respirator. 

The first flakes of snow land on your goggles, and the air in your mouth fogs as your heated lungs struggle through the filters, the cold. The exhaustion from cutting through meat and bone all. Day. Long. Your calloused hands ball into fists in your pockets as you force your way up and down the hills of the town. Trying not to think about the snow, or what it remind s you of, or what you’ ve done. There’s no use of dwelling on it. You’d thought and thought on it for months, maybe years, of your time Underground. 

“As above, so below,” you say, to no one in particular. 

The light of the moon couldn’t pierce the gathering snowstorm, the toxic ebony gas pillars of the metalworkers plant. The gas lamps struggle the further from the good parts of town you get, less worthy in the eyes of city maintenance. You fiddle with your sweater, your body tensing further as you walk. During the first few days, you’d gotten strange looks. The fastener  is a new invention where you’ re from, unusual to see anywhere outside of work boots and cigarette pouches, but time was insignificant,  far enough beneath the earth . The refuse of times and places, of universes, float s down from countless Surfaces to countless Undergrounds. 

You sidestep into a particularly dark alley. The faint scent of blood hits your nostrils through your respirator. What the hell? You could have sworn you’d cleaned up. Did you step in a slaughterhouse puddle on your way home? 

You aim for a left turn when something seizes you, one-handed, by the neck. 

“wasn’t countin’ on the fuckin’ gasmask, but hey. what do we do? we improvise.” A bottle of ether crashes into splinters beneath your feet. 

No. Impossible. 

“ t hink I got overzealous.  c ouldn’t stop thinking ‘bout all the things you might try. All the possibilities. Everything and anything you could do. Always forget how pathetic you guys can be when there’s no do-overs.  h eheh, well, there’s no do-overs for you. Not here.” 

You gasp, clawing at your neck, but you don’t have any nails for traction. A good butcher keeps them clipped and clean. 

“Y-you cant----- how did you-----” Your airways constrict further. 

“you’re pretty stupid, when you only get one chance to do the right thing. I should know that That voice. That voice couldn’t be real. But it’s as real as the hand strangling you, the nicked bones your short little fingers can’t get purchase on. 

“S---” you start. 

“s----sssstop talking. Here’s a choice for you. want me to choke you or knock you out?’ The low, familiar laugh rattled at the back of your head, occasionally peaking, threatening to boil over into peals of maddening cackles. 

You try to kick back wards at your captor . 

“uh uh uh. i guess its option three. shouldn’t have picked that one,” the voice chortled, before ripping your soul from the back of your chest.  His magic crushes it, constricts your very being as you fight for air.  Before it can crack,  he relinquishes his grip. You’ve already gone limp.

The death grip on your being loosens, but it takes you an hour to be even remotely coherent again.  You  see two booted feet pacing back and forth on a dark wooden floor, hear the tapping of phalanges on the side of a familiar skull.

Eventually your body responded enough for you to wriggle. The tapping and pacing stops as soon as you move an arm. It’s bound in place. Rough rope digs into your bare sternum. Wait, are you--- no, you’re not naked. 

“welcome back. “

“S-Sans. Y-you can’t----”

“adze.” 

“What?” You choke out through your abused vocal chords. 

“adze. picked a new name while i was out. while you were out. In case any other sanses stop by. heh. why would they? who’d come to a rotten place like this?” He  snorts , looking up at a sky neither of you can see. 

“... thats what  i ’ve been wondering. you know? since you managed to snag undick’s soul and crawl your maggot ass back to this miserable town. the night after you promised we’d do it together.” He yanks the front buttons of your work shirt open. “the night after we promised, in blood that we’d gather the s even souls together.” He traces a circular teeth mark between your neck and shoulder. It faintly glows at his touch. 

“We can’t. Wed n-never make it! You were right, I’m st-stupid once I lose the ability to Load. It took me hundreds of attempts at Undyne to g-get it right! Homicide up here takes more than one try.” 

He scoffs, picking up the chair you’re bound to and hurling it against the wall. You fight not to cry out, but you hit your head on the wall he’s thrown you at. 

“hundreds? hundreds of tries?! Eat  **shit** !” He growls your name, his claws raking at the edge of his bad eye.

“234,573.  **that’s** how many times i spent trying to figure out a plan that’d  **work** ! Millions of h-hours, notebook, after notebook-- since---- since-----” He howls a wail. The mark burns. You can feel the depth of the ache in him. 

“Since what, Adze?” Sometimes, its good to prompt him. Help him with his word retrieval. 

“since...” Wet, rusty tears pour from his sockets, as he slams his blade  inches from your head . “… since... since the last person that fucking  **lied** to me!” He lifts  the old weapon again.

There’s nothing you could say to him. This is the end. This is the end and you deserve it. 

“why can’t I forg-get the things I want to? I want I want to forget th-this feeling...” 

H e rests his head on your chest, sobs racking his body. Even though he’s twice your height, he feels small.  The axe drops to the floor, slices into the rotting floorboards. 

“the sm-smell of your blood in my nostrils. the f-feel of your hair in my fingers.”  H is phalanges twist their way under your work hat, pulling the pins on your curls free. 

“the taste of your flesh on my tongue.  i can’t.  i can’t f-forget my bro’s smile, before we lost the last person who could make braces, the way Undick always encouraged him to try his best, the little flit of Alphys’s t-tongue when she  proposed to her for the f-first time, the sound of m-my dad’s s-singing voice when he put us to bed for the last.” He looks into your eyes, furiously, then pitifully. Imploring. 

“we’re f-free. free of her, at l-least. but  i’ m not. ill n-never be free. not after what we did.” 

His hand traces a bright blue mark on his ecto. Brighter than his magic:  t he color of your soul. “even when you d-don’t have a use for me, even when I know you’re never coming back, I can feel you. out here. alive.”

You blink back tears. “Adze. I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry. I’m not strong enough to kill six people. Not without LOADs and even if I was, you wouldn’t be. Not with 1 HP point. Not s even of us.” 

He grips the chairs, on his knees, searching for answers in you with that massive ruby eyelight. 

“why  didn't you tell me?” 

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t see th-this look in your eye the one you’re giving me right now. I figured with time, you’d…” 

He laughs.

“…  six.”

You check him. Sure enough, he’s stronger than he was. 

“…  We could end up like Asr---”

“don’t. don’t say that. i didn’t crawl through toxic sludge to h-hear that.  i ’ve had so long to hear it from myself…  even if i  killed you , we’d die together.  t hat’s the mark for ya.  d id  i forget to explain it? ”

“Yeah… we just kind of… did it.”

He snorts.

“… Why  _did_ you come here, Adze?”

He presse s his fingers into your mark. You groan, the magic in the wounds shifting like marbles under your skin.  He grins. “that.”

You swallow.

“ the souls? Happening regardless of what you do. Don’t you want one more good, hard breed? Before both of us die?” 

Before you can answer, he unties you from the chair, hefts you over his shoulder, slams you into the bare mattress. Your arms are pinned above you as his sharp teeth rip into your work shirt, your undergarments, your pants. You wince as he repeatedly nicks your skin.

“you don’t have to answer that. i can smell it on you,” he grins. “how w-wet you are.”

“I---”

“shhhhh.  don’t patronize me… i’ll find my way. i always do. ”  His tongue laves over the fresh cuts in your stomach, the magic in it making you hiss. He reuses the rope from the chair, binding your hands out to the rusty bedposts. 

“ Adze, I w-want to. I want to g-get them for you---”

“later. We’re doing this now,” he grins, putting a finger over your mouth. It runs over the edge of your lip. “suck.”

You lean up a bit, taking it into your mouth. “y—yeah… s-so fucking moist,” he groans. “get it clean. Get it ready to go inside you.” 

How had you managed to convince yourself you never wanted to see him again? How did you break your promise? Your bond?

“ hey. focus on me. I can feel your feelings, you know…  and  it’s a little late for all this guilt.  y ou can make it up to me,  though, ”  he buries his face in your neck, lapping, nipping, biting at your neck. You scream, bite after bite drawing the pain you’ve wanted for months. Your blood barely runs to your chest before he’s lapping it up. He grunts like a pig as he eats. 

“Adze--- Adze---- it’s t-too much!”

“too much? Shut the fuck up. This place’s made you soft,” he snorts, hands tracing old wounds. “you’ve  **asked** for bigger scars.”  He slurps from your wounds, before plugging them with his tongue until they’ve closed. His teeth are gentler with your chest, hands doing most of the squeezing. Your body struggles between acknowledging danger and indulging in pleasure,  between begging him to stop and asking for more. 

“… it’s not enough, is it? You want me to  **really** wake you up, don’t you?” He taunts, then grabs your chin and forces you to look up. “ **don’t you?”**

You nod.

**“say it.”**

“I want m-more…”

He shrugs. “guess you don’t mean it.”

You spasm in your bonds. “More! I want m-more! Hurt me m-more, Adze, p-punish me for everything I’ve done to you, please, please, pleaase!” You beg, trying to use your untied legs to pull him closer.

The grin on his face, a bit distant before, widens, end to end. A chuckle gurgles in his throat, grows into a low, threatening laugh, peaks into howling mania.  He thrusts a hand out the open window by the bed,  ripping a substantial birch branch from the tree.  His other hand grabs you by the ankles and yanks you up to expose your ass. “A-Adze!”

“adze what? Isn’t this what you want?”

“J-just hit me!” You squawk.

“twenty per cheek. You’d better  **fucking** count them,” he grins. His teeth sink into your calf and he brings it down, over and over, only letting up when you’re about to cry. 

“O—one!”

“stutter again and we’ll stay on that number.”

The lash comes down again.

“One!”

“good pet. So good…”

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

By twenty, the branches are spattered with blood, your slick puddling with it at the center of the bed. You’re a sobbing mess. Words are leaving your mouth, but you can’t make them out. More? More? More? That’s your best guess.

“good pet. i like seeing you get all pissy and weepy.” He makes a show of licking each end of the branch clean, before spitting on your chest,  smearing your breasts with it. Your head leans into his hand, and he dirties your cheeks and lips.  He pauses to pull his cock out of his ratty shorts, dark blue, red-tipped and dripping. “beg. tell me where you want it, pet.”

“I—inside! Inside, inside, inside….”

He scoffs, casually slipping a finger into your cunt, stirring around until he relocates what you like. “in here? think you’ve got the room?”

“Fucking  **make** room!” You growl, sniffling. 

“heheheh, good pet.  g ooood pet. goo—oo--d---- ah!  f ffuck!”  He hesitates, before slamming the rest of his way in.  You scream. He’s as girthy as ever, the edge of his knot slapping against you as he rails you into the mattress.

“perfect!  p erf-fect, perfect, p-perfect….. m-mine…” He snarls, the repetition soothing, confirming.  His claws puncture cour thighs, his teeth sinking into the other side of your neck as he marks you a second time. You return the favor, savoring his soft, bleeding ecto in your mouth. You’ve lost enough blood to feel floaty, lighter than air as he rams you open. 

“hh—hhh! i think you’re r-ready, pet. grit your fucking teeth and  **cum with m---fffffuuuuuuck~** !” You obey, squirting down his thighs as his teeth meet in the flesh of your neck. He roars your name, the knot  slamming into place and emptying itself inside of you. 

“haah… ahhh…. y… you’re f-forgiven…”  He mumbles, a soft purr in his chest. 

“… I l-love you,” you croak,  before exhaustion pulls you into dreamless sleep .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I saved this multiple times in LibreOffice, but when I opened it again today:  
> -everything was underlined and striked through  
> -every apostrophe and double quote was gone  
> If there are mistakes of this nature, it's probably because I missed them when editing and trying to fix the fuckatonic formatting. I promise tomorrow will be better!  
> A gift for [Kat](https://twitter.com/UNALTERED_RUINS) on Twitter (18+). Go follow her! She does gorgeous Horror Sans illustrations.


	3. Day 3: Watching (Swapfell Purple Gaster x Underswap Gaster)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cursory glance out his window has Mauve falling in love with his past.

Warnings: stalking, past abuse mention, death mention, non-consensual voyeurism

It had started as nothing more than an open window into the Psychology courtyard, dark purple curtains pulled back to let the sun in. A glimpse over his shoulder at his counterpart, who he was, hundreds of thousands of imperfect RESETs ago.

Clementine had been sitting on a concrete bench, basking quietly in the sun. His phone had been turned off, tucked away in his leather briefcase, as his headphones sat crooked on his skull. One side of him listening to music, and the other to the birds, the rustling leaves in the wind. The song was probably _Grazing in the Grass_. Every day, between his 10 AM and his 2 PM classes, whenever the sun shone, there he’d be.

There’d Mauve be, watching him from the darkness of his office, simultaneously gazing into the present and the past.  Into who he could never be again, into what he could never have.  Though Mauve enjoyed teasing, psychoanalyzing, and planting seeds in other heads, the strange feeling in his chest at 12 PM, from Monday to Friday, watching Clementine’s moment of zen, was something he didn’t care to examine. 

Saturday came around. He extended his invitation again. His  room, the faculty dormitory, 12:30.

By one o’ clock, Aubergine’s plates were shattered on the floor, Nickel’s box of cigarettes empty.

“I DON’T KNOW WHY I BOTHER TALKING TO YOU!”

“don’t. we don’t need ta come back. he likes takin’ people apart, seein’ what makes ‘em tick. There’s no need to keep tryin’ to be the bigger person, aubie. let’s go home.”

Food and drink for one, then. His sons slammed the door as they left.

Mauve sat for a moment, staring at the spilt tea, the french onion soup floating across the dining room hardwood.  He genuinely wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong that time. 

How was he supposed to change the irreversible? Why did he keep trying? All he had to do was look into his eyes, and think of Clementine’s orange, hopeful look in the courtyard. He’d traded his Bravery for the Perseverance that had kept him alive.  His will to do whatever it took for the Royal Science Commission, no matter how gruesome, no matter how long it kept him at the Lab, no matter how many of his children’s betrayed, hateful gazes it had cost him---

He shook himself off a little, peeling off the dress shirt he’d donned for the occasion. Burns and welts were building on his ecto from the boiling tea splashed on him, but it was no big deal. He’d gotten worse chemical reactions before.  What would Clementine have done? Apologize? Hold his son’s hand? Tell him his feelings mattered? 

It wasn’t believable when it came from Mauve. That was why he wasn’t in practice anymore. The field had transformed without him,  better therapies for a better world.  He covered the History of Psychology. The past.  Torture.  Experimentation.  Determination.

The past.

The past.

The past.

The past, except he was still alive, and his hands had done all that and worse, just a few hundred thousand feet underground, in a universe that no longer existed.  Abuse that lived just under Nickel’s eyepatch.  Horrors that no one but him and his Queen remembered.  Evil that no one else had survived to recount.

The thud of a box in the hall startled him out of his stupor.  He stood at attention, left hand stiffly saluting over his skull. 

When had he started doing that again? He slowly lowered it, taking a peek through the slight opening of his door.

A familiar figure in corduroy pants and a tweed jacket with elbow patches was struggling with boxes on boxes.

“i’ll get that for ya, dad. You could just use magic, you know,” Clementine’s younger son chuckled, before the boxes floated into the once empty apartment next to him.

“I needed the exercise!” Clementine protested, a smile on his face. Mauve squinted. Something wasn’t right about that smile.

“ WHAT YOU NEEDED WAS TO LET YOUR HANDSOME SONS HELP YOU OUT,” his older son,  Agave, tutted, before hefting a two stacks of boxes, each four boxes tall, into the apartment. 

Miel , the younger,  nodded, before floating more things in.

“W-wait! I… please be careful with my instruments. Don’t float them in,” Clementine managed.

His sons nodded, gently carrying each gig bag in, cradling each vintage amplifier like a baby.  Mauve stayed by his door, out of sight. He heard them order pizza, eat together, talk about life. How? How did Clem do it? How did he used to do it?  The minutes turned into hours, and there Mauve stood, watching another man’s life go by as the sun began its descent into the mountains.

“well, here ya are. You’re welcome at the house anytime, you hear, old man?”

“ABSOLUTELY!”

There was a pause.

Agave lowered his voice. “You really don’t have to do this.”

Clem insisted. “I do. I want to give you boys your own space again. Let you both grow up.”

Mauve heard Agave’s voice break, and something distant in his soul hurt.

“… ARE YOU SURE?”

“I’m sure, Sans.” The sound of a kiss to the head, and Miel and Agave shuffled out. Agave was holding in tears, most likely until they got to their car, or when he was in his room by himself.

Mauve knew he shouldn’t have watched any of that. He had work to do, after all. It wasn’t like the hour he spent eating his lunch and watching Clem in the garden.  He’d just blown an entire day on what was essentially none of his business.

But he wanted… no, he  _needed_ to see more.

Was he just trying to see what made Clem tick? Maybe. It was easier to think of it that way. He was just the world’s worst psychologist, spying on a subject after hours. Taking notes.  ~~ Putting them in file cabinets to send to his Queen, even though they’d long stopped corresponding that way.  ~~

Doing what he always did. 

Looking at the blueprints to his apartment, knowing that Clem’s setup would be exactly the same.  He’d poked around in there while it was still empty, just in case.

In case of what?

nickelanddime: you didn’t invite us to lunch this weekend

Mauve looked up from his files. Clem’s apartment. His wi-fi password, which had been easy enough to guess. His Internet history. His recent online orders. 

nickelanddime: is there a reason why?

He groaned.

dr_mauve_aster: You smashed my plates and said you’d never come back.

nickelanddime: never stopped you before

dr_mauve_aster: It seemed like your brother meant it this time, so I saved you both the trouble.

nickelanddime: you’re plotting something. i know it. i can smell it in the air.

dr_mauve_aster: Your old patterns of intimidation and feigning intuition won’t work on me. I invented them. I passed them down to you.

nickelanddime: fine. agave says you look distant when he attends your class.

dr_mauve_aster: Agave needs to mind his own business,  and so do you.

nickelanddime: i'm not minding anything but you. if i don't watch you then no one will.

dr_mauve_aster: What a waste of time and energy.

nickelanddime: fucking gaslight me again and see what happens. i don't care how much you wanna pretend like there isn't good reason for me to be keeping the eye you left me with on you. i know the truth.

dr_mauve_aster: I don't know what else you want. I offer to build you a replacement eye, and you scoff. I offer to pay for corrective surgery and deep bone cleaning so that you won't be so yellow all the time, so that you won't have to see my neglect on your body, and you roll your eyes. I ask Aubergine if he would like my old Royal Army regimen to supplement his current weight training, and he snarls. 

nickelanddime: because you still don't get it.

dr_mauve_aster: You have failed to explain it to me in a way that I understand.

nickelanddime: i don't owe you an explanation. you know what you did.

A wave of anger, rarer than a comet, flashed through Mauve. He pushed his files aside.

dr_mauve_aster: Of course I know what I did. I know things I've done beyond the pale of your wildest dreams. It's honestly hysterically funny that I'm being asked to teach Ethics in Psychology alongside my current course. I know what I've done better than even you could. What I don't know, and what you refuse to tell me, is what I should do now. You seem to find it fun to watch me run around in circles, trying to figure out how to talk to you again. Well, I'm done running in circles. I know what you want.

nickelanddime: and what's that

dr_mauve_aster: The weekend after this one, you are free to come and take it.

nickelanddime has disconnected.

_Good,_ Mauve thought.  _Leave._

There was aphrodisiac liquor coming to Clementine's doorstep that Saturday evening. Liquor and toys. He'd be too drunk , his scent too strong, to smell Mauve in his closet  watching him.

Mauve was even less present that week. He went through the motions of his classes, did his best to tutor Agave when he asked for extra help. With the help of a stone elemental craftsman, his good china was like new when the young, bright-eyed man arrived, arms full of books.

"I DIDN'T KNOW YOU LIVED NEXT DOOR TO MY DAD!" Agave chirped as he wrote at the kitchen table.

".... that's correct." With Agave, Mauve had found, it was best to let him talk.

"I DON'T THINK MY DAD KNOWS EITHER. WHY HAVEN'T YOU VISITED HIM?"

"... Not all Gasters know each other, Agave," he tried to smile.

Agave's voice dropped. "That's not true. You pine for him from your office every day at lunch."

Mauve almost broke his teacup for a second time.

"My dad moved out really suddenly. Like, really suddenly. I think it was after he saw me sneaking someone into my room. He must have thought I was sneaking around due to him... I'm sneaking around because of M i el. He's... not ready to see me like that. "

Mauve kept his mouth shut in a tight line.

"... Pay him a visit sometime. Please. I know he's lonely. He's trying to cover it up. We all are," Agave shrugged, before smiling again. "THANKS FOR YOUR HELP, PROFESSOR! SEE YOU NEXT WEEK!"

That was jarring. Mauve smiled, may or may not have said goodbye, and closed the door behind him. He'd always assumed Clem was better off. His watchful eye could pick up repressed emotions in him and his sons, but he'd never really stopped to think about it.

Never mind that. Tonight was the night, and he'd possibly already missed his window. At 8 PM, Clementine's orders arrived. He looked around like he was committing a crime, before grabbing his parcels and slamming his door.

Mauve followed the faint creak of Clemetine's feet, mirroring it as they navigated on their respective sides of the wall. Into the bedroom. Onto their beds. Clementine was within arm's reach. But Mauve had to wait.

_"I know he's lonely. He's trying to cover it up."_

It must be nice, being Agave. Believing in everyone. Believing Mauve could just press the doorbell with a cup of tea and be let in. Be allowed to stay in, once Clem discovered the depths of Mauve's  inner rot.

It almost made him want to cry. He shook himself, waiting for the pop of the bottle. One hour. A glass clinked. Liquid poured. Clem intended on getting pretty plustered. There was a much bigger ratio of aphro to alcohol in what he'd ordered.

Three glasses in, Mauve heard Clem flop messily onto his bed. Now was his chance. He shut his eyes, almost praying as he stepped into his own closet and ported into Clem's on the other side.

Clem was nude, his pussy soaking into his plain jersey sheets. There was a fierce flush on his skull, his earbuds in as his own hands touched him. 

"Hhh... hhh... nothing's w-working...." He rubbed at his clit weakly. It looked sore, abused. Mauve settled in, trying not to knock anything over as he observed through the blinds. The room was soaked in the scent of citrus. His tongue flicked out to taste it, despite himself. 

Clementine's hands unwrapped a boutique, lilac vibrator. It clicked to life, and he slipped it in with little resistance. "Hh---- ah! Ah, M-Mauve..."

Mauve almost choked on his own tongue in the air.

"I sh-shouldn't... who knows what he'd think…"

_No. Please do,_ Mauve grinned. The thought got more desperate.  _Please. Please do. Please do._

"F-fuck, Mauve, Mauve, Mauve...." Clem panted, thrusting it in and out of himself . A second vibrator attacked his clit, and he mewled. 

"I sh-shouldn't, I shouldn't, I shouldn't.... hnngh..... but I w-want to... I want to..."

_Gods, yes,_ Mauve groaned internally.  _What is it? What do you want? What can I give you?_

"F-fuck! Fuck me, Mauve! P-press me up a-against the walls of your office. M-manipulate me... l-lay me bare. Laugh at me while I try to lie to you. Ig-gnore my protests. Rip my f-fucking shirt open, Mauve! Pull me down by the n-necktie..."

It was strange hearing the other man's fantasies about him.  The other professors had always spoken poorly of him, and his sons repeatedly warned their own counterparts to stay away, to not trust him, to watch what they said in his presence. 

Manipulator. Toying with people.  Cruel. Sadistic.  Mauve had heard those words over and over again. No one had ever _wanted_ him for those reasons, though. Not in a long time.

The heady scent of violet started leaving his body.

Clem was making himself drip as he talked, the vibrator barely keeping up with the intensity he wanted. "F--fuck, I can feel your eyes on me when we pass each other in the halls. Wh-why won't you do it? Why won't you sh-shove me somewhere dark and r-rub your cock on m-my face? I know you w-want to... I know how badly y-you want to ruin me..."

His hands and thighs trembled. He spread himself more, forcing the vibrator in and out, spattering his sheets in slick.  _I want to. I want to. I want to._ Mauve didn't even realize his hand was in his trousers, trying to keep pace with the other.

"... Everyone s-says not to trust you. To k-keep a distance... that you're a m-monster... but that's what I want... I want s-someone to-- ngh---- hurt me----ah.. Ah! Mauve! Mauve! Fuck! Ruin me! Mauve!~" Clem ejected the dildo hard enough to open the closet door, right as Mauve climaxed with him. The door swung open,  right as the arc of Mauve's release flew onto the hardwood in front of him. 

Clem stared at him in horror.

Mauve stared back, his  expression blank . His mind screaming.

"... I'm h-high, aren't I?" Clem chuckled, his smile twisted with pain and shame.  _Please lie to me,_ his eyes said.

"Y-yes. You're high. High as a kite."

"... Well, good to know it takes 3 shots to see what I want."

Mauve slowly nodded. 

He swallowed, before shakily opening his mouth. "... Maybe don't overdo it, n-next time... it wouldn't do to get addicted to the stuff."

Clem sniffled, chuckling. "I g-guess... s-spend the night, oh aphrodisiac delusion?"

Mauve tried to stand. He hit his head instead.

"Oh! Don't stand... just crawl in. There's plenty of room."

He looked to Clem, to his bed. 

What did Clem want from him? To hold his hand? To fuck him into the mattress? To be his friend? To be more? To pretend this didn't happen?

He stared and stared, but he couldn't figure it out. 

"... Are you coming?"

The other man was panting, gazing into him with hazy orange eyelights.

Why get him attached? In a week, Mauve would be dust on the floor .

"No," he replied. "Sorry."

He ported back, curling into a ball. The sheets rustled on the other side of the wall, Clem doing the same. Shaky sobs filled the air. Mauve couldn't tell which were Clem's, and which were his.  


The courtyard was empty on Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ten days late. There are 3 drafts discarded in my folder because they weren't horny enough, or the characters were too unfamiliar. Sorry for the wait! It probably isn't what you wanted, but it's what I could make.


	4. Day 4: Close (Swapfell Purple Papyrus x Underswap Papyrus/ Moneyhoney)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miel's dissociating again on the way home from a concert. His luck drops off further when the train he was taking home shuts down, with only him and a previously unnoticed companion inside.

Warnings: dubcon, alcohol, aphrodisiac, nicotine/cigarette use

Day 4: Close

Miel’s guitar slipped into its case, almost on its own. It’s not like it hadn’t been a good concert. It was incredible. People had basically demanded that the session continue until the club owners had to close for the night.

Miel wasn’t really paying attention, though. He shuffled the case over his shoulder, took his payment and slipped out. People kept trying to ask him things: what was he playing? Where did he learn? Did he do weddings? Did he have somewhere to be? Backstage, maybe? He looked straight ahead, gently shook his head, until he pushed himself out. The city blurred in front of him. He almost tripped over an old busker on his way to the subway. He heard a vague, “hey, fuck you, buddy!” and tossed a generous tip his way. He couldn’t look back. Any interaction right now would only go badly. He couldn’t even really port himself home.

The singlecar was empty, thank goodness. He stepped in, settled into a seat, wrapped his arms tight around his case, and closed his eyes.

The train took off. Miel knew it was moving, but he wasn’t really listening. His mind felt like it was tethered to his body by a string. He couldn’t really feel his own bones. This happened sometimes, but it felt more severe than usual. Had he accepted any drinks before performing? He knew he hadn’t smoked anything before showing up.

“someone drugged ya, buddy.”

His eyes forced themselves open. “wh-what?”

The singlecar screeched to a violent stop.

He managed to lift his head. It was almost completely dark. They were pulled over into a siding. The singlecar’s lights had fluttered out.

“w… who said that?”

A smokey growl chuckled behind him. “me, buddy.” He would have jumped, ported, done something, but his bones weren’t listening to him.

“don’t worry. i’m not the one who did it. saw you stumblin’ around and decided to give you a follow, make sure you ported home. then you didn’t. you got in a singlecar.”

Miel managed to turn his head. A skeleton with inverted purple eyes and yellowed bones was perched on top of the seat next to him, murmuring in his ear.

“ya know…. the surveillance’s out on this car.”

Miel found his voice. “what’s that s-supposed to mean? who are you?”

The skeleton looking back at him chuckled. “ya serious? i’m literally the bassist ya jammed with. nickel’s the name. showing up to concerts blasted and halfassing a set is my game.”

“nickel… aren’t you professor mauve’s son?”

Nickel chuckled, shrugging. “you sound as convinced as he is. anyways, there’s no cameras on this car.”

Miel struggled to sit up. “again? what does that fucking mean? you say you’re not the one who drugged me, but you’re making it sound an awful lot like you were.”

Nickel pulled a dark purple echoflower cigarette out of his pocket. It must have been a variety from his home.

“you’re seriously unaware of your body. don’t worry. i can give ya a couple more minutes to figure it out.”

Miel craned his neck down. Sure enough, he was sopping.

Just great.

“yeah. someone must have really wanted you backstage, honey.”

“it’s miel,” he defended the name his dad picked for him.

“spanish, huh? interesting. my big bro knows agave. they spend a lot of time together. mostly fighting.”

Miel shook his head. He didn’t want to know more.

“that’s not gonna dissipate. not with what they hit you with. i could take care of it, though. i can even port ya home afterwards, if you don’t wanna be stuck here all night,” Nickel grinned, aniodized purple fangs and pink bottom canines glinting in the light of his cigarette.

Miel scoffed. “oh, so this is a racket of yours?”

Nickel’s easygoing expression twisted into a scowl. “again. didn’t drug you. you have my word. you’d know if i was lying, wouldn’t ya? i ‘’m just you after some wear and tear. a couple imperfect resets. a dictatorship.”

Miel whimpered. “n-no way. when would i lose my teeth? when would i start p-propositioning people on the fucking subway?!”

Nickel’s laugh was discordant, empty. “neh heh heh heh… you can’t be serious. all that sugar and nicotine and always forgettin’ to brush yer teeth? should’ve saved yer money for the echo cigs. if you had lungs they’d be 90% cancer.” His long legs carefully stepped down from the seat, and he got close. Too close. “as fer propositions… you can’t put life on yer tab forever, can you, papyrus?”

Miel swallowed. “i… i guess n-not….”

“… so, what’s it gonna be? sit here with a wet pussy by yourself until some repairman comes to get you? or let me take care of you?”

“why aren’t there more options?”

“i think i’m doin’ ya a favor. i know your body better than anyone…”

Fuck.

“p-prove it.”

_What am I_ _**doing** _ _?!  _ Miel thought.

“easy. you ready for the good stuff?” Nickel put an arm behind him.

“what does that--- mmf!” Nickel craned his mouth open,  shotgunning the sweet herbal smoke into his mouth. His tongue sprung forth to taste the other’s. It was a little hard to control, whatever he’d been drugged with making coordination difficult.

“shh, shhhh, honey. don’t worry too much. i’m in charge. you just relax…”

Nickel shuffled his jacket off, laying it on the ground. Miel was in shock. He was letting that touch the floor for him. He wasn’t sure he’d do that for anyone but family. Nickel’s yellowed hands lifted him out of his chair, his touch delicate. He  left the taste of grape cough syrup in Miel’s mouth.  Miel felt his back vaguely touch the jacket. Before he could protest, his own jacket and hoodie were being stripped away.

“you good to go, honey?”

It was his last chance to back out. Instead, Miel nodded.

Nickel pulled his sweater off, a tight black turtleneck. There was nothing but a cropped tank top on under that, his body formed and ready to go. He was skinny, even for a skeleton. His ecto didn’t fill out much at all. 

“heh heh, i remember this,” Nickel grinned, his fingers slipping under  Miel’s white tank top. “you got better at washin’ your clothes, didn’t you? i used to let these get so dirty they’d turn yellow.”

Miel flushed. “y-yeah…” He wanted to say no. To say that it was disturbing, hearing Nickel talk like that. No one else should know this much about him. 

But he loved it.

“see? this isn’t so bad. you don’t have to explain a thing to me. no need for justifications and excuses. i know more about you than anyone ever could.”

“i don’t know anything about you, though… it’s a little one-sided.”

Nickel shook his head. “there’s nothing to know. nothing that wouldn’t make you sad. heh, cute panties.”

Miel squeaked. He’d worn his nice lingerie to the concert. Not because he wanted anything afterwards, but because he’d run out of clean underwear otherwise.

“maybe you didn’t get better at washing everything, huh?” Nickel tutted, before his warm, purple tongue pushed the panties aside and licked from his clit to just above his ass. 

“oh f-fuck! fuck, I’m not r-ready…”

“whoops. forgot how nervous i could be. can’t be all business here,” Nickel agreed. “how can i getcha comfortable? kissing? …. more talking?”

“what  do you play?”

“does it matter?” Nickel shrugged.

“do you wanna make me comfortable or not?” Miel grumbled, turning away.

“thumb.”

“pricey.”

“don’t have anyone else to spend on anymore,” Nickel mumbled.

“your dad get you into---”

“nope. if we talk dads, i won’t get it up. let’s talk something else.”

Miel nodded. “ this is so inorganic.”

Nickel was quiet for a while. They listened to the underground, to other singlecars rattling by.

“… you deserve better, don’t you, miel?” 

“ what?” Miel replied.

“come on. i’ll take you somewhere really nice.” Nickel put most of Miel’s clothes back on, draping his jacket around him as he picked him up. Miel weakly clung to Nickel’s shirt. “what’s come over you?”

“i dunno. seeing you down here… all alone in the dark, ‘bout to lose your virginity on the floor of a filthy train…” Nickel trailed off. “… made me sad.”

Miel tried to talk. He had full control of his tongue back. “look, i’m not any better than you!”

Nickel just smiled. The void gave way beneath them. The deeper they drifted, the more feelings emerged in Miel’s chest.

“i’m…”

“you’re what? can you port on your own now?”

Miel yanked Nickel down, aggressively probing his mouth. Sure, he was clumsy, inexperienced, but he was determined.

“mm, what was that? nobody told me you could move again, neh heh heh…”

“i d-don’t need you to protect me! i ‘’m not the past, i’m not a time capsule of you, i’ m not innocent… s-so take be back to the train! i don’t want to lose it in a five-star hotel or something. i can’t think of any less natural place to do something so s-special.  i ‘’d rather be plowed into oblivion on the floor of a broken train. ”

Nickel looked at him. His expression was unreadable.

“i think i’ve got a compromise.” He pulled Miel back in, and they landed on a soft bed. 

It was definitely Nickel’s bedroom. The walls were painted a dark purple, almost black.  Painted canvases and blacklight posters glowed brightly in the otherwise dimly lit space. A few plants sat in an indoor mini-greenhouse, and a well used easel was in the other corner. Nickel put his own case in the closet. How had he not forgotten it? Miel hadn’t even seen it until now.

Nickel used magic to change the sheets, fluff the pillows, before setting Miel down proper.

“this too fancy for ya?”

“it’s perfect.”

“ever drank aphro liquor?”

Miel gulped. “once.”

“worth doing again to you?”

“p-please.”

Nickel unsealed a bottle. Honey-flavored. 

“why do you just have that?”

Nickel grinned. “i was actually s’posed to meet you soon. my brother wanted to introduce me.” 

“who brings aphro liquor to a first meeting?”

“do you want a shot or not?” Two small glasses floated over. Miel accepted. Gods, it was almost too sweet, even for him, but he savored the taste in his mouth.

Nickel downed his first shot, shuddering. He held the second in his throat, before yanking Miel in to share. Miel was happy to be seated. He’d always been a huge lightweight, and even with his ass in a bed, he felt like his knees were buckling. “hh, n-nickel…”

Nickel swallowed his half of the liquor. He tossed off his clothes, peeling Miel’s body clean and kissing him, sternum to pubis. 

“n-nickel! nickel, m-mooore…” The word came out before Miel could take it back.

“more? heh heh heh, say it again.”

Miel swallowed. “wh-what?”

“i like hearing you tell me what you want.”

Miel groaned. “are you s-serious? fuck…”

“heh heh. more or no dice.”

Miel tried to sit up, but Nickel’s magic had a sturdy hold on his sternum.

“how’s that fair?!” 

“life’s not fair. ‘more’.”

Miel tried to sit up again. The pressure of Nickel’s magic felt nice.

“oh, you like that, don’tcha? slow down there, painslut junior. there’ll be plenty of time for that. go on. four letters. one syllable. you’ve got this,” Nickel grinned.

“fuck--- m-more! i want more, nick.” Nickel purred, before pushing his thighs apart and digging in like a man starved. His long tongue wound deep into Miel’s heat, already knowing him from the inside out. “ngh--- n-nick! nick… that’s p-perfect….”

“i know,” Nickel replied. “ t-tastes perfect.” His thumb rubbed at Miel’s clit, occasionally tugging just a little. Miel yelped, his hips rising for more.

“mm-mm. keep those little hips still so i can eat.”

Gods, how was he summoning a tongue this long? Miel’s hand tried to cover his mouth, but it was securely pinned down by Nickel’s will. 

“no one’s home. scream for me.”

“hhh---- hngh! fuck, deeper, deeper~”

“yeah? deeper?”

“please!” Miel croaked. “i d-don’t care what you have t-to do…”

“it’s gonna hurt a lot,” Nickel chuckled between slurps. Miel’s slick was running down the corner of his mouth.

“g-good!”

“ you double-sure?”

“nick!” Miel gasped. “s-stop making me repeat myself.”

Nickel shrugged, but something in his eyes told Miel he cared. “green means go, yellow means pause, red means stop.”

“i’m not gonna--- agh!”

The tip of Nickel’s tongue exerted a different kind of magic on his insides, his constructed cervix throbbing a little, before loosening.

“that f-feels---”

_ red, yellow, or green?  _ Was Nickel using hands?

“ g-green!”

The very tip of Nickel’s tongue started pushing its way in. Miel screamed for real, gasps of discomfort intermingled with cries of “green, green, green, green”.

_ you sure? _

“fuck! i’ve never been so s-sure of anything in my life!” Miel wheezed. Hot tears stung his eyes, but he was so close. It was blindingly painful, and he couldn’t get enough.

Nickel’s tongue curled upwards, and Miel saw stars. His vocal chords hadn’t seen this much use in years. Something came out of him, and before he could stop, he’d absolutely drenched Nickel’s skull in squirt and slick. 

Nickel carefully pulled his tongue free, using it to lick himself clean. How did he get it so long? Before Miel had even really come down, Nickel was cleaning him up as well. 

“more?”

“ngh---m-more. more…”

“that’s a good boy,” Nickel murmured, lapping at Miel’s neck. He let out a strangled little moan. “will you do me a favor, miel?” the other panted.

“s-sure.”

“suck me o-off. i know you wanna. mister oral fixation.”

Fuck. Miel couldn’t argue with that logic. He felt too good right now.

“gargle this, then get to work, honey.” Nickel tipped a second shot down his throat. Miel accepted, gulping it down greedily. Nickel kicked off his pants, tossing a soaked black cotton thong aside. His cock was pierced down the middle. How was Miel going to do that?

“don’t worry. it goes down easy. green?”

“g-green,” Miel stuttered. Nickel slipped a finger into his mouth, gently pushing it open. “i don’t mind if you fuck up. use some teeth. i like that sorta thing. i think you’ll do just fine, though,” he grinned, before slipping the tip onto Miel’s tongue. He tasted like cough syrup, chemical and vaguely grapeish. Miel focused on keeping his mouth open, sucking the pre out of his partner. Nickel’s body shuddered. “that’s good… can you take more?”

Miel held a thumbs up.

“good boy. good boy….” Nickel’s hand rested on his skull, rubbing it as he got a few more inches down. Miel gagged a little.

“keep m-me posted on how you’re taking it, hngh…”

Miel shook his thumbs up at him.

“good. i’m gonna move.”

Nickel started off slow, letting Miel get accustomed. “you’re not too bad a-at this. you suck your own in your room, don’tcha?” Nickel grinned. Miel squeaked. “told ya. no secrets here, mmmgh…” He growled, picking up speed. Miel struggled with the length, but he kept his mouth open and his thumb up. 

“mm! who’s a g-good boy? who’s such a good b-boy, miel?”

Miel let his teeth scrape Nickel deliberately.

“ohhh. don’t like me treating you too nicely, do ya? alright, bad boy. see if y-you can handle this!” Nickel wheezed, before grabbing Miel’s skull and fucking himself on it to completion.  His magic tasted perfect. Miel wanted more. As soon as he’d gotten it down, the word ‘more’ kept leaving his mouth.

“i think that’s plenty for now, honey. nap with me? i promise… there’ll be more. in a moment.”

The magic on his body let go, and Miel was able to sit up. He grabbed Nickel and pulled him down, tucking a quilt over them both. 

“hey, hey. the aftercare’s for you, dumbass,” Nickel sighed.

“what are you, the lord of aftercare? scoot in,” Miel slurred.

“hm,” Nickel nodded, turning away. Their backs were touching. Not the most intimate, but Miel could get by. 

Eventually, something shuffled in the bed, and Nickel’s arm settled over his body.

“… thanks for the cigarette,”  Miel managed.

The other snorted. “go to sleep.”

“ fuck, dad’s guitar!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was told by a friend that it was bad etiquette to tag your Kinktober with stuff that you hadn't actually written yet. The tags should be fixed now. I apologize for misleading you, if you previously checked this fic expecting something that wasn't up! It wasn't deliberate, and I've learned to not do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter (18+): [lxdyclavicula](https://twitter.com/lxdyclavicula)  
> I don't mean to be an attention whore, but if you really like my work and you want to see more, show me! Comments are always welcome and appreciated!


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